The Power Is For Sure Going Out (Again)

Hell, I’ll be lucky to get this on the Intertubes.

The Underground’s been a dry well as of late, and I apologize to the Undergrounders hungering for news from the great snowy north.

Unfortunately, there really hasn’t been any (unless you count night-and-day workloads, youthful projectile vomiting, and other artifacts of everyday life).

Wayne Eng did go fishing with a couple friends during Sunday’s snow/rainstorm, and when we talked about it on the phone, we came up with a plausible reason why snowstorms in January are kind of cute, but in late March, they’re Satan’s work.

It’s possible we’re both a little punchy.

The big web project is now 95% done and waiting on other people’s stuff (so it can launch in just over a week), so I’m back to all the things that didn’t get done before.

Delaying the announcement of the site – and an interesting new work gig that will likely find purchase among the Undergrounders – is killing me, but at least the delays aren’t on the consultant’s head (for once).

More when I’m able.

See you lighting candles, Tom Chandler.

In what I can only describe as an impressive display of frozen precipitation, we got somewhere between 4-6 feet of snow in just a couple days – enough to overwhelm thousands of trees, the snowplows, the power grid, and yours truly.

At local fly fishing celebrities Wayne & Myrna’s house, a huge oak tree – loaded with snow – toppled over at 2:30 AM… right through the roof of their house.

Wayne & Myrna's house & formerly intact roof.

At the Man Cave, I had to cut up three sizable tree limbs and one tree before snow removal even began on Thursday morning.

One local blog suggested it was a “nightmarish week” and I can’t find it in my heart to argue.

At one point, better than 75% of South Siskiyou County’s residents were without power, and yes – some still are (4-5 days later).

Our power disappeared for a time on Monday night, came back, and then took a three-day vacation early Tuesday.

Thursday it strolled back into our lives (for two hours), but by then the L&T had reluctantly taken the sick Little M for a road trip to a warmer, powered part of the state.

We didn’t experience consistent power until Friday AM, by which time I’d already participated in the Great Search For The Trout Underground’s Mailbox – obliterated by the county plow.

It led to the odd spectacle of me poking the L&T’s carbon fiber avalanche probe into our snow berm, finally locating our mailbox under six feet of compacted ice and snow (and yes, I had a great time digging it out).

To make matters odder, while I was searching for the mailbox, a Pacific Power car pulled up next to me, a man leaned out the window, and he asked: “Uhh, you don’t have power now, do you?”

Uhh, yes we do, and why don’t you know that?

Of course, veteran Underground will realize the following: whenever snow appears, Satan’s Snowblower is sure to follow.

Satan’s Snowblower: The Sequel

For the newbies, Satan’s Snowblower is a demonic apparition – a snowblower in appearance only.

It’s clearly possessed by the devil (or agent thereof), and never overlooks an opportunity to break, clog, fail, bog, fall part, or suck in a newspaper.

And yes, it apparently spent the better part of the off season devising new ways to stick pins in me.

For example, yesterday I fired it up Monday the first time this year, and it was already broken.

Over the course of the summer, a cotter pin controlling the snow chute cleverly wriggled itself free.

After I repaired it with a stout paper clip (I’m awarding myself this week’s MacGyver Cross), Beelzebub’s Blower worked – until it realized I was at the far end of our long driveway, and promptly ran out of gas.

Well played, my evil friend.

The next morning – facing snow deep enough to totally obscure all but the upper half of the Wonderdog’s tail (a time when a working snowblower isn’t so much an option as a requirement) – Satan’s Snowblower (official motto: “I Must Break You”), sensing a golden opportunity, failed again.

This time for good.

That day and night, it squatted in the Man Cave, no doubt chuckling to itself in sinister fashion while I invested upwards of three hours hand-shoveling the fluffy white stuff so the L&T could leave the next morning.

All that effort largely disappeared in the face of heavy snow overnight, which led to three more hours of shoveling (which almost led to a grown many crying).

There are times when you’re out there – cold, sweaty, sore, tired, hungry and basically hating water in all its forms – and in the back of your mind, you wonder about those poor unfortunates who die each year in the act of snow removal.

And it occurs to you: did their hearts really give out, or did they simply decide that going to their heavenly rest was preferable to moving another shovel load of snow?

Satan’s Snowblower: The Revenge

I won’t go into explicit detail about the words and thoughts that passed through my mind as I tried to dig a narrow, Toyota-wide tunnel down our 200 foot driveway.

I will, however, admit that at one point – limply clutching my aluminum snow shovel (less throw weight) – I openly wondered if our homeowners insurance would pay off on Satan’s Snowblower if it accidentally caught fire.

(No ethics were harmed in the making of this report.)

Because my blood runs on a mix of German, English and Scottish genetics, it’s clear I don’t get mad so much as get even.

Which is why – fiscal responsibility be damned – Chris Raine rolled by the house yesterday in his big pickup, and we took a little road trip to Medford, where I purchased the Ultimate Man’s Snow Toy (barring all the other more ultimate man’s snow toys):

A Honda 1132 snowblower.

Hydrostatic drive, trank treads, 11 horse - what's not to love?

Who’s laughing now, Satan’s Snowblower?

With hydrostatic drive, usable controls, and 11 horsepower motor and caterpillar drive (it looks almost as if it should feature a small cannon), I look forward to snow clearing operations that are more like simple work, and less like wrestling an irritable grizzly.

It wasn’t until yesterday – family safely returned to our now-warm home and new snowblower snuggled into the Man Cave – that it occurred to me that it was actually pretty damned gorgeous outside, and that all this snow means there could be a ski/fly fish trip for Wally the Wonderdog and myself in the near future.

A little power will do that for you, though a quick glance out the window – where more snow is falling as I write this – suggests that trip isn’t imminent.

See you somewhere white and fluffy, Tom Chandler.

The new wood-stove insert is keeping the family room warm, but since we’re on a well, water’s scarce, and with Little M’s cold turning into a fever last night, the L&T grabbed the World’s Cutest Undergrounder and lit out for relatives in the Bay Area – where heat, water, food and medical care are available.

I won’t suggest I – as a new parent – freaked out or anything. Let’s just say I was “hysterically concerned.”

And while the Underground’s spacious grounds are littered with dead trees, dead tree limbs and other carnage, the real Pain In The Ass barrier involves the failure of Satan’s Snowblower on day one.

(me: “Well played, demon spawn”)

(satan’s snowblower: “And the winter is still young, my young victim.”)

I’m writing this from Raine’s house in Dunsmuir (that smug bastard with his power and heat and hot food…), and the lights are flickering, so I’d better get this posted and go.

That’s not to say I can get it done quickly; with the snowblower dead and snow falling like it was freakin’ Siberia, I’ve invested upwards of 4.5 hours/day shoveling snow the last three days.

In other words, the Underground tiny little Tyrannosaurus Rex writer’s arms are in fact little rubber bands.

See you when the power’s back on, Tom Chandler.

Even the Trout Underground/Man Cave’s Hydro Testing Facility loses its greenish, slimy appearance under the influence of the fluffy white stuff:

Needless to say, today would be the perfect day to chase BWO hatches on the river, though I’m sidelined with domestic chores (at least steam cleaning a carpet involves a power tool).

I hate missing a snowy day on the water; even if you don’t see a bug or catch a trout, it’s heartbreakingly beautiful (that shiny clean thing again).

And yes, you very often do catch trout, typically on #20 BWO dries or emergers, which – for a Modern Traditionalist Intemperate Dry Fly Partisan – is pretty close to heaven on a stick (a big stick).

Tomorrow, however, may be a different story. Should the planets align and I find myself on the river, you’ll hear it second.

Meanwhile, the Underground’s not deaf to the pleas of the Wally the Wonderdog partisans, who have seen neither hide nor hair of the Magnificent Sausage Beast for some time. Consider this a Wally Snow Day. (He certainly has; he runs around in the stuff like it was money, chasing the falling snowflakes to the ground.)

See you at the Winter Wonderland, Tom Chandler.